A Series of Unmentionable Events
by Protectress of Dalidon
Summary: Whether they be hilarious, embarassing, painful or shocking, these are some of the things the members of Atlantis would rather slipped quietly into obscurity... Should we let them?
1. Hindsight

_A/N: I don't own anything, and I'll put them back when I finish with them._

_These chapters are individual stories but they are in the same universe. You can make it alternate if you like._

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He walked through the corridors of the city with an expression that could only have been called fierce. The darkness served to enhance the impression and made him more unapproachable, had anyone been awake where he was walking. With a swift hand, he opened the door to his room and, without turning the lights on, filled a bag haphazardly and left again. The transporter door opened before he reached it and he hit the farthest possible point on the sketch-like map. In the light, John Shepard looked like a man who had just discovered an enemy he had to defeat, but didn't know how. 

The doors to the room opened easily for him, and John set the bag near the door and paced. They hadn't figured out what this room had been for yet, but they had discovered that it was soundproofed and that was all that mattered at that moment. Trying to get his breathing under control, he tipped the contents of his bag onto the floor and stared at the mess. With shaking hands, he turned the mess into something he could use. Attaching the metal rod to the wall, he hung what counted as his portable punching bag up and stared at it. For a moment, everything was still and silent. With a cry halfway between anguish and rage, John hurled the first punch.

_She was watching the gate room, as she always did, when he looked up and saw her. It was the first time he realized that she was there when he left and came back. A savage, possessive thrill ran through him as he lifted his hand to wave. Her smile was more than confirmation enough, despite it's exactly appropriate degree…_

The second punch was as hard as the first and he savoured the sting. It was easier to strike out at the bag as the memories surfaced, driving the feelings into the fabric.

_She was in the infirmary, standing by his bed when he opened his eyes. How many times had he seen that? And then the smile touched her lips and she stepped forward and for a moment, he could have pretended that she was there as something other than the leader of the expedition. And in the subtle shifts of her face when someone else announced their presence, that thrill shuddered through him._

He remembered each time he'd been in the infirmary, and for each instance, his fist met the bag. Again and again, the rhythm coming to him easily but without the calming quality a workout usually held.

_She looked at him as she made her decision, and he could tell she didn't want him to do it, didn't want him to risk himself again. But she let him and he went to get ready. In the reflection of her office walls, he caught her expression and didn't smile. Which parts of her, he had wondered, were fighting over that choice?_

He kept hitting the bag, almost not realising that he was even hitting it, ignoring the sharpness of his stinging knuckles. How many times had he backed her into a corner that she had to find a different way out of? How many times had he seen that tinge of regret and anticipated pain in her dark eyes? And how many times had he been compelled to do nothing about it? He hurt her, in small ways mostly, but sometimes…

_She went backwards easily, she was so light! She hit the wall and blinked, her eyes finding his and he could hear himself screaming, knowing no sound was reaching the world. Still, she had stuck by what she had said, his hand around her throat or not. And he flung her to the ground and left. He hadn't looked back…_

_He had hunted her down, intent on killing her. And he'd been screaming and cursing, pleading and threatening until that damned alien had gotten out of his head. Then he had shot her, and watched her fall, and been so grateful that he was doing it because she would live. _

He was breathing hard and the punching bag was a bit worse for wear, but he kept going. It was all he could do because every thought brought more to the surface, and he couldn't force them back into the darkness that was the back of his mind anymore. Not after- No, that he wouldn't think about, anything else, but not that.

_She had smiled, wary and curious, as she pulled back the material to reveal the Athosian jar. It was perfect for her, he'd thought. It sat on her desk and every time he went into her office, he saw it and felt that same possessive buzz. Of all the personal items, his gift was on display._

_Her arms around him as he stood in the gate room, alive and finally back in Atlantis. _

_Her lips on his, even though he knew it wasn't really her. And the temptation to pull her back to him, had he been in control at the time…_

_Standing next to her on the balcony, just watching the sun dance over the waves, more aware of her presence than he should be. And knowing she was just as aware of him._

A snarl echoed in the room as he lowered his head and lashed out again. He couldn't have her. Not on Earth, not on Atlantis, nowhere in two galaxies… But others could, if she let them.

_She held the gourd as though it were the most precious thing in the world. It was ugly, and useless and tacky, given by a man who was definitely not worthy of her… But she had smiled._

_She played with the silver necklace, stroked it as though touching skin. He wanted her to do that to him, and it had been with fierce satisfaction that he had noticed the lack of it around her neck. Whoever had given her the token didn't deserve her._

Finally, he stopped, gasping for air. With care, and more than a few winces, John packed everything up and left the room. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridor until he reached the transporter and was gone. He paused at his room, throwing the bag back inside and sighing. Shaking his head, John headed for the infirmary, of his own free will, and waited until Carson could see him. The Scot cleaned the torn knuckles carefully, noting the damage wasn't severe, despite the bloody condition of John's hands.

'What were you doin', lad?' Carson asked as he applied some salve to the wounds.

'Thinking.'

'Thinking? Bloody hell, what happened?'

John didn't answer, he just licked his lips and avoided the doctor's eyes.

'John, you can tell me, doctor-patient confidentiality still exists in the Pegasus Galaxy.'

'I know,' John replied, 'I guess I just realised that I can't change some things.'

'Lad, no one is expecting you to, you're doing a fine job here and we're all very grateful.'

'Thanks Carson. Look, I should get some sleep before my next mission…'

'Aye lad,' the doctor said, stepping back, 'you do that. Come see me if you need anything.'

John nodded and walked back to his room, entering it without turning on the lights. Night was still on the city, and the darkness was welcome. John slipped into bed, lay on his side and closed his eyes.

_She was on the balcony, leaning against one of the pillars, cradling something to her chest. It was dark and the stars barely reflected on the ocean around the city. She was meant to be off duty, not that she ever was, instead she was on the balcony. He was going to approach her, step through the open door and go to her, when the sob broke the comparative silence. He hesitated, and watched as she lifted one hand to brush her hair back from her face and wipe her cheeks. The starlight caught on the curve of her cheek, glistening on a tear she had missed. John was about to move when she inhaled, tilted her head back, exhaled and spoke. The words cut him, and he left as silently as he had arrived, getting as far away from her and the realisation of what he'd done as he could._

'_He's home,' she had said, 'that's all that matters. He's home.'_

_In his head, he could hear one of the smart kids in school taunting him angrily, although he could only remember part of the conversation. It had altered slightly, but it applied. The words rang through the memories he had slammed into fabric, whispered in the beating of his heart._

John rolled over, trying to focus on something else, anything other than what he'd done to her. But there it was, in the sound of the waves.

_For I have made her prison be,_

_Her every step away from me._

And he had. If he'd meant it or not, he had flirted with her, defended her, comforted her in small ways… He had tied them together so tightly that there was no place in his heart for anyone else. Sure, he had relationships, he refused to call it Kirking, with women he didn't let into his heart, but what man didn't? But not her, and that tore at him. Apart from that jerk on Earth, who no longer counted, she had never been with anyone since she'd arrived on Atlantis. And now he understood why. She was too honest to do it, and she was as tied to him as he was to her. And he couldn't let her go…


	2. Candlelight and Silver

_A/N: I own nothing, I'll put them back when I'm done. Thanks!_

_For my muse, as always, and everyone who reviews. _

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She ran a hand through her dark hair and the candlelight reflected off the strands and danced as she moved from one side of the room to the other. Watching her from the edge of the big, and only, bed, he shook his head. 

'Think of this as humouring the locals,' he said with a shrug. 'It's only until McKay can get the jumper fixed.'

'And if he finds this too amusing?' she retorted, turning to face him. The candles were mostly behind her and the light bounced off her hair and formed a halo around her head. He thought it prudent not to mention that, or that she looked like someone's, his, fantasy in the deep maroon nightgown she was wearing.

'He won't. Between us we're basically a fix it or die situation.'

'Thanks for the compliment,' she replied wryly. Despite the apparent sarcasm, he swore there was an edge of hurt, and bitterness, in her voice. The frown on his brow was gone almost as it appeared. The moment stretched uncomfortably.

'If I promise not to seduce you, will you come to bed?'

'I'm not an Ascended, or Ascending, Ancient, I don't have to worry about that.' The change of topic didn't work as well as he'd planned and she spun away from him, tension clear in the way she moved, in the way she held herself, and he was silent. What she'd said didn't hurt, the undertone did, the fact that it hurt her somehow, that cut painfully.

'Elizabeth,' he said, getting to his feet and walking over to her, 'you know it's not like that.'

'It doesn't matter John, I'm taking the floor.' She didn't look at him, stood facing the wall and the covered window. She'd been like that when he'd walked in earlier, before they started this discussion, and if he was honest, he could remember walking into her private room and seeing the same thing. Something was bothering her. Really bothering her…

'You're not taking the floor,' he said softly, unsure if he should reach out and touch her, 'you're taking the bed. Right now, we need you able to be you, not a martyr… Besides, that's how this all started, and I already told you, I'm taking the floor.'

Elizabeth whirled around, a retort ready. As she came to face him, she stumbled, not realising he was so close, and he reached for her instinctively, pulling her to him. Cursing himself, he ran his hands down her arms once she'd steadied, not letting her step away.

'What's going on Elizabeth? And don't try that "we're the leaders of Atlantis and this is really inappropriate" line.'

'Let me go, John.' She lowered her eyes and looked away. For the first time John could remember, she turned away from him. And it wasn't because he was the military leader, it was something to do with him being him. He'd thought he'd suffered at the hands of enemies, but nothing could prepare him for the pain and helplessness that washed over him at that moment. What had he done?

'Elizabeth?'

'Please, I can't-' she drew in a shaky breath, 'please, just let me go.'

He did, but he gave her a gentle nudge towards the bed and she went. She reminded him of a child stuck in the aftermath of a nightmare as she sat at the top of one side and pulled her legs up to rest her head on her knees. And he watched her, as close to rage as he could get in her presence. What the hell had he done? What had happened to her? That thought sent chills down his spine. Could someone have hurt her? Was that why the nightgown reached from wrist to ankle? Were there bruises under that blood coloured fabric? Of their own accord, his fingers closed into fists and he had to exert considerable control to relax them. If someone had hurt her, he'd find out…

'Liz, what's going on?' He'd never called her that, hadn't ever got that personal with her, but it seemed to have the right affect. She looked at him, and the mask that was the leader of Atlantis was missing. She was just Elizabeth Weir, and she was strikingly beautiful, and suddenly vulnerable.

'Nothing,' she said softly, again looking away, 'I think I'll try to sleep, we've got a lot to do tomorrow.' She managed to get under the covers without messing up the bed and rolled onto her side, facing away from John. He said something remarkably cliché about bed-bugs, but she didn't respond so he made his way around the room, blowing out the candles. He turned and looked over at her from the last one, and decided to leave it, just in case… Shaking his head slightly, he too made his way under the covers. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

0o0

It was still dark, and the one candle left alight didn't seem to have burnt down far when John opened his eyes. He wasn't all that surprised, he tended to be a light sleeper when he was sharing a bed. Especially when he had told himself over and over and over again that he could not, under any circumstances, roll over and cuddle whomever he was sharing with. Had it been a male, there wouldn't have been a problem, but with Elizabeth in the bed, things were a lot different. And now, he could almost swear he heard muffled sobs. Without saying anything, he rolled over lightly, keeping his weight evenly spread. She was still facing away from him and it was with considerable control he pulled her to him. At first, she tensed and he wondered if he'd been wrong to act, but then she relaxed and he shifted his weight so he could see her profile in the candlelight. Instead of just holding her, which would have been smart, he raised his hand and started to stroke her hair, silky against his hands. That simple action seemed to shatter something inside Elizabeth and she curled in on herself and convulsed in shudders.

'He didn't…' she murmured, John only picking up the words because he was desperately listening for them. 'He knew about it, and how much it meant to me, and he didn't…' The sob ran down her body and John just kept stroking her hair, his fingers light but firm so she would know that he was there, that he wouldn't leave her. "He didn't even wait." The words seemed torn from her and suddenly the bitterness made sense. And the way she'd been slowly distancing herself from all of them, or all the guys, now that he thought about it. His eyes fell to the curve of her throat and he realised that she'd stopped wearing the silver necklace. Whoever was back on Earth must have given it to her… For a moment, he felt as though he could have ripped the bastard's heart out. Instead, he pushed the thought away and let her cry. The tears stopped, the sobs eased and he rolled her towards him and enfolded her in his arms. Closing his eyes, he savoured the feel of her against his chest, of her body against his, and leant his cheek on her hair. He had no words to reassure her, not that he could actually say… So he just held her, and stroked her back and hair and brushed the tears from her face. Eventually, she fell asleep, murmuring a thank you as she half-heartedly tried to roll away. When he pulled her back, she didn't resist and so he closed his eyes, feeling her breath across his skin, the weight of her arm across his body more welcome and more painful than he could ever have imagined.


	3. Being Carried

_A/N: I own nothing, and I promise to put them neatly back in their box when I'm done._

_ I thought it was about time for some humour, so here you go. The angst is still there though, where would we be without it?_

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It was about lunchtime when John noticed Elizabeth hadn't got up from her desk much during the morning. He and the team were on a break, on Dr Beckett's order, so John had nothing better to do than wander around the city. Standing quietly out of her sight, he watched as she finally stood and the tiny grimace that skittered across her features caught his attention. With a smirk easily recognized as scheming, he headed down to the gym.

Elizabeth was halfway through a mission report when Ronon walked into her office. She looked up and couldn't read the tall man's expression and while that wasn't unusual, something about it bothered her.

'What can I do for you?' she asked after a minute's silence.

Ronon just smiled and headed for the desk. He gestured for her to stand and warily, she complied. In a few moments, although later she couldn't say how, Ronon was walking out of the command center with a very bemused Elizabeth in his arms. Observers could hear the leader start talking to the Satedan, basically telling him to cease and desist, but it was a one sided conversation.

0o0o0o0

'Will you put me down now?'

'No.' Ronon turned a corner and a very confused Carson appeared. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and stifled a groan. She'd thought she was starting to get through to Ronon, maybe even convincing him that she'd walk wherever they were going… Clearly, she'd been wrong.

'Well now, what have we here?' Carson asked, approaching in his normal, business-like manner.

'She's hurt her knee.' Ronon was his usual eloquent self.

'It's fine,' Elizabeth assured the doctor, 'it's just a little stiff.' She smiled winningly, but Carson only frowned and shook his head.

'The last time you said that, you could barely walk.' He shook his head again, and gestured for Ronon to follow.

'Who put you up to this?' Elizabeth asked quietly, knowing he probably wouldn't have done this on his own.

'It's part of being Satedan,' Ronon hedged. From her position against the warrior's chest, Elizabeth allowed a gentle, dangerous smile to touch her lips. She doubted that…

0o0o0o0

John wandered in as Carson was finishing his examination. He nodded to Ronon as he took his place at the warrior's side.

'So, this is where everyone got to,' he said, smiling, as he turned to Elizabeth. 'Never thought you'd come in here voluntarily…'

'I was given a very compelling reason,' she replied, her gaze meeting his evenly, 'Ronon can be surprisingly persuasive when he wants to be.'

'Yeah, I think that's why Teyla takes him on diplomatic missions.'

'I thought it was because I have better table manners than you,' Ronon supplied. There was a pause, and Elizabeth nodded politely. She could have voiced a few reasons, but she thought it prudent to say nothing of them in the present company. John just rolled his eyes at the other man. A few minutes later, Ronon departed, saying something about heading for the gym. Elizabeth watched him go, more amused than she would let on. She expected John to leave too, but the man stood by her bed and looked at her. For a moment, she thought he was staring into space and she just happened to be there, but then she realized that his focus was closer…

'What is it?' she asked, raising her gaze so it met his. There was a slight frown on her forehead and John glanced at it before looking away.

'Just wanted to make sure you're okay.' It was softly said, and for a moment Elizabeth wasn't sure that she heard him correctly. In that pause, she realized why Ronon hadn't been inclined to listen to her.

'You told Ronon-'

'I simply suggested that you may need some help getting to the infirmary.' The cheeky, happy-go-lucky smile was back on his face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

'Really?' she replied, raising an eyebrow, 'that's all you suggested?'

John ran a hand through his hair. 'I may have mentioned the last time you got like this…' He shrugged, his gaze turning away from hers. She let him, lowering her head slightly. Last time, it had been John how had bullied her into seeing Carson.

'Well, now that you're in good hands…' John spoke softly, despite the apparent change in his focus. Elizabeth nodded without looking at him, lost in a thought. She blinked in shock as she felt a gentle hand lifting her chin so her gaze met his. 'You take care, all right?'

'Of course,' she replied, her voice barely a whisper. For a moment, they stayed like that, staring at each other, trying to tell each other so much in a simple look. Then John smiled and, with the briefest of caresses, dropped his hand to his side. He smiled at her again, and left. Elizabeth watched him go, hoping that no one else had seen that too short moment. It was too delicate to survive an observer.


End file.
